


Our Divinest Senses

by ChrisCalledMeSweetie



Series: Divinest Senses [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Are Foot Jobs a Thing?, Bisexual John, Can you decipher them?, Coded Clues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Games, Hand Jobs, Inexperienced Sherlock, John Loves Sherlock, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage, Rimming, Sex Toys, Sherlock Loves John, Shower Sex, Well they are now...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:56:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisCalledMeSweetie/pseuds/ChrisCalledMeSweetie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After being sectioned, John and Sherlock met for the first time when they were sentenced to six months as the only residents of a secret government facility on one of the uninhabited Shetland Islands.  Forced to work together to play a series of elaborate games set up by Mycroft, they gradually became friends, and then lovers.  Now, rather than continuing to attempt to escape, they have decided to use this time as an all-expense-paid Sex Holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sense of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Breath4Soul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breath4Soul/gifts).



> This is the sequel to Divinest Sense. If you haven’t yet read that, I highly recommend that you do so. Unless you don’t really care about the plot, and are just here for the Sex Holiday. In which case, carry on…
> 
> Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses.  
> — Lao Tzu

John had lost all sense of time.  The self-proclaimed sociopath in bed with him had turned out to be a consummate cuddler.  What’s more, Sherlock — who up until yesterday had refrained from all sexual contact on the grounds that it wasn’t worth the trouble — also possessed a surprisingly healthy libido.  So:  cuddle, kiss, come, catnap, continue…

 

Time?  Meaningless.

 

…

 

Sherlock awoke slowly, desperately trying to cling to the fragments of an incredible dream.  John had been there, touching him.  Whispering words of praise.  Holding him close.  Sherlock could still feel those arms around him.  He never wanted it to end.

 

As he reluctantly returned to consciousness, Sherlock’s dream morphed into reality — a reality in which he was, indeed, wrapped in John’s arms.  With a happy sigh, he snuggled closer.  The chest beneath his cheek rumbled as John let out a sleepy hum.

 

“Is it morning?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you going to let me out of bed today?”

 

“We’ll see…”

 

John chuckled, tugging Sherlock’s curls to draw his head back so they could gaze into each other’s eyes.

 

“Good morning.”

 

“It really is.”

 

…

 

Over breakfast, John finally brought up one of the loose ends that had been pushed to the back of his mind for the past couple of days.  “You never did tell me how you figured out the clues that were supposed to be for me without asking for my help.”

 

“They weren’t for you.  They were quotes from the book of John in the bible, which Mycroft so thoughtfully left in my bedside table drawer.”

 

“Ah.  And where did they lead?”

 

“Inside the room marked _TO HELP YOU PASS THE TIME_ there are four cabinets with locks that resemble digital clocks.  The chapter and verse number of each quote corresponds to the time to which to set each clock.”

 

“What’s in the cabinets?”

 

“Books, games, DVDs, and musical instruments.”

 

“Any more clues?”

 

“I’m not sure.  I was somewhat… distracted… at the time.”  

 

Sherlock’s face clouded over, and John took his hand.  “I’m sorry, love.  I should have been honest with you from the start.”

 

“I’m sorry, too.  I never should have suspected you of conspiring with my brother.”

 

“We were both idiots.  But I think things worked out okay, don’t you?”

 

“I do.”

 

…

 

John stepped through the door labeled **TO HELP YOU PASS THE TIME** and glanced around the comfortable sitting room.  “So you’ve already opened all of these cabinets, then?”

 

“All but one.  I knew the codes, but I wasn’t sure which one went with which lock.  I should have deduced that the one with the games would be _He must increase, but I must decrease_.”

 

Sherlock set the digital clock to 3:30, and opened the bulletproof glass door.

 

“Wow — this is quite a collection.  Your brother has eclectic taste.”  

 

John scanned the shelves.  Childhood favourites like Operation, Mousetrap, and Battleship shared space with classics like Chess, Backgammon, and Othello.  Pens, paper, and several decks of cards sat next to a professional darts set.  There were word games (Scrabble, Boggle) and logic games (Mastermind, Guess Who?) and random games (Trivial Pursuit, the Truth or Dare edition of Jenga).  There were also no fewer than seven versions of Cluedo: Super Cluedo Challenge, Cluedo Vintage Edition, Cluedo Master Detective, Cluedo Super Sleuth, Cluedo Mysteries, a Cluedo card game, and a Cluedo DVD game.    

 

“These bring back memories,” Sherlock said, half to himself.

 

“I thought you told me you didn’t play with other children.”

 

“Mycroft doesn’t count.  He’s seven years older than I am, so he had an unfair advantage for the first few years of my life, and after that he started cheating.”

 

John snorted.  “You think you’re pretty good, eh?”

 

“I know I am.”

 

“We’ll see.  I can be quite competitive…”

 

…

 

Sherlock had given the contents of the other cabinets a cursory inspection a couple of days ago, but now, with John by his side, he was ready to examine them more closely.  In his emotionally compromised state, he had paid little attention to the television or DVDs.  He was chagrined to realise that there was actually a complete entertainment centre, including a large collection of CDs, as well. 

 

“Oh, John Denver,” John said.  “He’s one of my guilty pleasures.  My dad used to listen to him all the time, so his songs always make me nostalgic.”

 

John popped in the CD and music began to fill the room.

 

“This is a waltz,” Sherlock said, surprised.  He held out his hand to John.  “Dance with me.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

“I never joke about dancing.”   

 

…

 

The familiar lyrics took on a new meaning as John stepped into Sherlock’s arms and allowed himself to be led.

 

_You fill up my senses_

_Like a night in a forest_

_Like the mountains in springtime_

_Like a walk in the rain_

_Like a storm in the desert_

_Like a sleepy blue ocean_

_You fill up my senses_

_Come fill me again_

 

Sherlock danced like someone who was born to it, graceful and expressive.  John smiled up at him and began to sing along:

 

_Come, let me love you_

_Let me give my life to you_

_Let me drown in your laughter_

_Let me die in your arms_

_Let me lay down beside you_

_Let me always be with you_

_Come, let me love you_

_Come love me again_

 

With his usual brilliance, Sherlock had already learned the words to the first verse, so when they came around again he joined in with his rich, dark voice:

 

_You fill up my senses_

_Like a night in a forest_

_Like the mountains in springtime_

_Like a walk in the rain_

_Like a storm in the desert_

_Like a sleepy blue ocean_

_You fill up my senses_

_Come fill me again_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll be updating bi-weekly, in honor of bi-John — aka fortnightly, in honor of forthright John. Please subscribe, so you don’t miss the next chapter.
> 
> This story has been beta'd and Brit-picked by the brilliant Breath4Soul. I promised her that I would let you know that she has been diligent in pointing out my excessive use of commas, and that any remaining extraneous punctuation is due solely to my own recalcitrance.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me happy, and a happy author is a productive author. Thanks for doing your part to keep me motivated. :)
> 
> Want to see a Viennese Waltz performed to “Annie’s Song” on the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing? Check this out — https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BmUAdfnrckY


	2. Sense of Sight

“Let’s go for a walk.”

 

“Sherlock, it’s pitch black outside, and barely above freezing.”

 

“Yes.  And…?”

 

“And I think it might make more sense to wait until tomorrow, when we’ll be able to see where we’re going, and won’t be at risk of hypothermia.”

 

“But it won’t be the same.”

 

“No, it will be warmer, and light out.”

 

“But it won’t be the same as our first walk together.”

 

“Oh my god — you crazy romantic,” John said, grabbing Sherlock’s face and kissing him soundly.

 

Sherlock blushed.  “Don’t tell anyone.”

 

“Who could I tell?  In case you haven’t noticed, we’re on our own out here.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

…

 

After bundling up, John and Sherlock activated the dual retinal scanners that released the lock on the front door.  As they stepped out into the night, Sherlock took John’s hand.  They set off together, following the route they’d taken a week before.

 

The night was clear and crisp, the sky sprinkled with stars.  John gazed up, searching for familiar constellations.  There was Orion, there was Canis Major, there was Gemini, and there —

 

John involuntarily brought his hand to his mouth, frozen in wonder.  Beside him, Sherlock stood transfixed.  All around, the Northern Lights ribboned across the heavens in otherworldly shades of green, blue, and violet.  

 

John squeezed Sherlock’s hand, and received an answering pressure.  They stood together, marvelling at the spectacle, until the Aurora Borealis had played itself out.

 

…

 

“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.  Aren’t you glad you agreed to take a walk with me?”

 

“Yeah.  That was amazing.  Although the view in this bedroom right now isn’t too bad, either,” John said, giving Sherlock an appreciative look.  “I’ll bet you could put on a show to rival the Northern Lights.”

 

Sherlock preened at the compliment.  “Challenge accepted.”

 

“Ooh…  Will you do a striptease for me?”

 

“If you’ll do something for me afterwards.”

 

“Do I dare ask?”

 

“I want to watch you touch yourself.”

 

John’s cock twitched at the heat in Sherlock’s voice.  “Are you sure your brother doesn’t have any hidden cameras in here?”

 

“Positive.”

 

“Then how ‘bout if I don’t make you wait until afterwards?”

 

“Even better.”

 

Sherlock raised his hand to the top button of his shirt, splaying his long fingers across his throat in a sensual caress.  He deftly undid one button, then another.  John’s hand unconsciously fell to his crotch.  

 

“I may be the most observant man in Britain, but even I can’t see through fabric.”

 

“Oh, right.”  

 

John quickly shucked his trousers and pants, his eyes never leaving Sherlock.  The man was gorgeous.  Stunning.  Exquisite.  And here he was, unwrapping himself like the world’s best Christmas gift.  John was mesmerised.  

 

…

 

As Sherlock slowly disrobed, he drank in the sight of John touching himself, his small hand firm around his swelling cock.  There was so much information to catalogue:  position, rhythm, pressure, speed, response.  It was fascinating.

 

By the time Sherlock was naked, John’s foreskin was completely retracted, exposing his glans, glistening with pre-come.  His hand was flying over his shaft.  Sherlock took a step closer and stared, transfixed, as his slit gaped and then spurted semen in three explosive pulses.  John continued to stroke, more slowly, as his cock pumped out more of the creamy fluid, which now ran in rivulets over his hand.  At last, he stilled.  

 

Sherlock dragged his eyes up to John’s flushed face.  “Now _that’s_ the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

 

…

 

The following day found John and Sherlock once again out for a walk, this time in the scant warmth of February’s afternoon sun.  They strolled at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, in companionable silence.  

 

It didn’t take long for them to reach the solid 20 foot wall that surrounded the island.  John eyed the electric wires spaced out in front of it with mixed emotions.  On the one hand, his body tensed at the memories of the painful shocks he’d received, and the despair he’d felt, wandering alone in the darkness.  On the other hand, the electric fence had provided the catalyst that had sparked his first kiss with Sherlock.          

 

Maybe those experiences hadn’t been so different, after all.  Both had short-circuited his brain and knocked him on his arse.  In their own ways, both felt an awful lot like being struck by lightning.

 

…

 

Sherlock eyed the wall and the electric wires in front of it thoughtfully.  A wall to keep out the rest of the idiotic world, allowing him to explore his relationship with John in peace, was a good thing.  The electric fence, though, was another matter.  That was clearly meant to keep him penned in, like an animal.  Unacceptable.      

 

He and John had decided not to continue their attempts at escape, since, at least for the moment, they had everything they wanted and needed right here.  However, choosing to remain on this island together didn’t preclude giving themselves the option of coming and going at will.  And what better way to annoy Mycroft than by demonstrating that they could circumvent his little trap any time they wished, yet preferred to stay?

 

…

 

John was all in favor of Sherlock’s new plan.  If he were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he’d be all in favor of just about anything Sherlock suggested at this point.  He was ridiculously besotted.

 

_Focus, John,_ he told himself.  _New plan._   Out loud, he said, “So, what’s our next step?”

 

“The only door we haven’t been through is the one marked _Cold Storage_.  Electric fencing is also known as hot wire, so I’m thinking _Cold_ might refer to switching off the power.”

 

“Makes sense.  That lock has a numerical keypad, but we haven’t found any more clues.  Do you think it could be the same as one of the ones we’ve already decoded?”

 

“Unlikely, but there’s no harm in trying.”

 

John and Sherlock returned home ( _how bizarre,_ John thought, _that I’ve come to view this place as home_ ) and typed in one set of numbers after another.  To the surprise of neither, none of the previous combinations they’d used worked to unlock the door of the Cold Storage room.

 

“Without knowing how many digits are required, there are an infinite number of possibilities here.  We’ll have to find another clue,” Sherlock said.

 

“Yeah.  But where?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve already read Divinest Sense (and I sincerely hope that you have) then you’ll know that this is the part where I encourage you to share your theories. Where do you think they should look for the next clue? What do you think is behind the door labeled Cold Storage? And which one of their senses do you think they might explore next?
> 
> Here’s some info about the Northern Lights as seen from the Shetland Islands:  
> http://www.shetland.org/things/explore-nature/northern-lights


	3. Sense of Play

“It’s not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock.”

 

“Well, it’s the only logical solution.”

 

“It’s not in the rules.”

 

“Well, then, the rules are wrong!”

 

“I think we need to try a different game.  There’s been no sign of the code we’re searching for in any of these versions of Cluedo, and if we don’t switch to something else, _I’m_ going to be the one whodunnit.”

 

“Fine.  You pick, then.”

 

“How about Operation?”

 

“I think you have an unfair advantage there, _doctor_.”  

 

“Right — because how to remove a Funny Bone is something I learned at Bart’s.”

 

Sherlock looked at John, John looked at Sherlock, and suddenly they were both giggling.

 

_I’m happy_ , John realised.  _Absurdly, deliriously happy._  

 

Once John got his laughter under control, he opened the Operation box and handed the directions to Sherlock.  “Here, you look through the rules for clues, while I set up our patient.”

 

Sherlock scanned the instruction sheet, but found nothing that might tell them how to get into the Cold Storage room.  “I don’t see anything promising, but we might as well operate, since you’ve got him all prepped.”

 

It quickly became clear that John did, indeed, have an advantage.  Bart’s may not have taught the removal of Spare Ribs or the Wish Bone, but John was quite adept with the Surgical Tweezers.  He was pleased to note that the intermittent tremor he’d started experiencing in his left hand after being shot had completely disappeared since he’d met Sherlock.

 

John removed the final piece — Butterflies in the Stomach — with a flourish.  “Ta da!  I knew all those years of med school would be good for something one day.”

 

Sherlock acknowledged this with a tip of the head.  “All right.  You won that one.  But I get to pick the next game.  I challenge you to Battleship.”

 

“You’re on.”

 

…

 

Twenty minutes — and one very confused John Watson — later, they turned their plastic game units around to show each other.

 

“Hey!” John cried.  “You’ve been moving your ships!”

 

“Of course I was moving them.  What kind of Fleet Commander would leave his ships anchored in the path of enemy fire?”

 

“That’s cheating!”

 

“No, that’s playing strategically.”

 

“Sherlock, there are rules to these games.  I know you’re aware of them, because I’ve watched you read the directions.”

 

“I was just checking them for clues.  I didn’t think you’d expect me to follow them.”

 

“Hmph!  I’m choosing the next game, and you had better play fair, or there will be consequences.”

 

“Sexy consequences?”

 

“Only if you follow the rules.”

 

“Fine.  What do you want to play?”

 

“How about Jenga Truth or Dare?”

 

“I’m familiar with Jenga, but how does Truth or Dare come into it?”

 

“Well, see, they’ve printed questions on the green blocks, and if you remove one of them from the tower, you have to answer honestly.  Or, if you take a red block with a dare on it, you have to do what it says.  And then there are a bunch of beige blocks that we each get to write our own questions or dares on.”

 

Sherlock picked up one of the red blocks and read it aloud.  “ _Slow dance with a broom_.  So this is the sort of thing they mean by dare?”  

 

“Yeah.  They’re mostly meant to be silly, I guess.  But really, you can write whatever you want.”  

 

“And what about the truths?”  

 

“Here, look at this.”  John showed him a green block that read _“What was your most embarrassing moment?”_

 

“Okay.  This could be interesting.  How many do I get to write?”

 

“There are 18 blanks, so we’ll each do 9.  Use pencil, so we can change them if we want to play again another time.”

 

John and Sherlock set to work, periodically snickering to themselves or grinning slyly at each other as they wrote.  Once they’d finished, they stacked the blocks into a tall, narrow tower.

 

“You can go first,” Sherlock offered.

 

John carefully removed a block from the center of the bottom level and read the preprinted dare aloud.  “ _Switch an item of clothing with another player._   Okay.  Take off your trousers.”

 

“They’re going to be way too long on you.”

 

“I know.  I don’t want them, I want your pants.”

 

John traded his simple cotton briefs for Sherlock’s decadent silk boxers.  The fabric felt heavenly against his skin.  “Ahhh…  I may just keep these,” he said, sliding his trousers up over the luxurious fabric.

 

“You’re welcome to them.  I’ve got two dozen more.  But please don’t be offended if I don’t want to keep yours.  I have certain standards when it comes to what I put on my body.”

 

“Hey, so long as _my_ body is one of the things that you’re willing to put on your body, I won’t quibble with your standards.”

 

Sherlock winked at him, and then removed a green block from the tower.  “ _Describe your worst moment at a party._   Hmm…  Well, once Lestrade lured me to the Yard with the promise of a locked-room triple homicide, but it turned out to be a party instead.”

 

“That must have been awfully disappointing,” John deadpanned.

 

“It was,” Sherlock agreed, completely missing his sarcasm.  “I considered locking Anderson, Donovan, and one of their cronies in a room and pumping a deadly gas in through the vents, so I could have what I’d been promised, but I thought even Lestrade might be able to solve that one, so I just snuck out the back.” 

 

John let out a bark of horrified laughter.  “God, I’m glad you like me.”

 

“I really do,” Sherlock said, face softening.

 

“Okay, my turn.”  John selected one of the handwritten blocks.  “ _Imitate an animal until I guess what it is._ ”  

 

John thought for a moment.  Then he stood up, put his heels together, held his arms stiffly at his sides, puffed out his chest, and began waddling around the room.

 

“You’re a pengwing.”

 

“A _what?_ ”

 

“A pengling.”

 

John burst out laughing. 

 

“What’s so funny?  A pengwing is a perfectly good guess.  If you’re trying to be a duck, you should put your hands up under your armpits.”

 

John flopped onto the sofa in a fit of giggles.

 

Sherlock huffed indignantly.  “You have to keep going until I guess.”

 

“No, no,” John gasped out between his giggles.  “You’re right, love.  I _am_ a _pengling_.”

 

Sherlock side-eyed him, but let it pass.  He selected one of the red blocks.  “ _Remove an item of clothing._   Oh, good.  I’ve been dying to get out of these.”  

 

He took off John’s pants and flung them across the room.  

 

“Oi!”

 

“What’re you complaining about?” Sherlock asked, pulling his trousers back on over his bare arse.  “I said you could keep mine, remember?”

 

“Well, I’m holding you to that, now.”

 

John studied the tower before carefully removing one of the green blocks.  “ _What’s your favorite battery powered toy?_   Hmm… Operation was pretty fun, but…” 

 

“But?”

 

“Well, I’ve never used one, but I did see a vibrating cock ring in amongst the sex toys that your brother left in my bedside table drawer.  I’d have to try it out before I could tell you whether or not it’s my favorite, though.”

 

“Try it out on whom?”

 

“That would be entirely up to you.”

 

“Duly noted.” 

 

Sherlock slid a red block out of the tower.  “Oh, this is a good one.  _Sit on the lap of the person to the left of you until your next turn._ ”

 

Sherlock draped himself across John’s lap, shifting his arse to make himself more comfortable, and John decidedly less so.  John wrapped one arm around him while cautiously selecting a beige block.

 

He read Sherlock’s handwritten question aloud.  “ _What’s something sexual that you’ve never done but would like to try?_   Well…  You know I’m not interested in doing anything that you’re not completely comfortable with,” he began, squeezing Sherlock more tightly, “but, um, I think that anal sex is something I’d like to try.”

 

“Giving or receiving?”

 

“Either.  Both, at some point, if you’re up for that.  But honestly, it’s not a big deal if it’s not something you want.  I’m more than satisfied with what we’ve been doing so far.”

 

“Oh, I’m more than satisfied, too, but I’m definitely open to trying new things.  Just about any new thing you can think of…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm… Sherlock’s open to trying just about any new thing John can think of. What do you think they ought to try?
> 
> Meanwhile, the clue to the Cold Storage room wasn’t hidden in Cluedo, or any of the other games they’ve played so far. Where do you think it could be?
> 
> Comments are my 7% solution. Please feed my addiction. ;)
> 
> Come back in two weeks for a sexy continuation of Jenga Truth or Dare, as well as a new code for you to crack.
> 
> While you’re waiting, you might enjoy reading a fluffy little Johnlock one-shot I just posted. It’s called If Equal Affection Cannot Be. Check it out at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8054272
> 
> Oh, and if you’re interested, here’s a cool article about the Sense of Play — http://www.deepfun.com/the-sense-of-play/


	4. Sense of Fun

Sherlock gave one final wiggle before hopping off of John’s lap and removing a green Jenga block from the tower.  “ _Have you ever left the house without underwear? Details!”_

 

“This should be good,” John said.

 

“Well, of course I have — on many occasions.  I’m not wearing any pants now.  But I suppose the most noteworthy time was when I showed up at Buckingham Palace in nothing but a bed sheet.”

 

“You didn’t!”

 

“I assure you that I did.  I’ve told you that my brother is the British government.  Well, he was being very heavy-handed about trying to recruit my services, and I wanted to make it perfectly clear that I was not suitable for that sort of work.  I thought he’d gotten the message, but apparently not.  Although I really can’t complain about this most recent scheme of his.”

 

“Nope.  I’m not complaining, either.  This is the most fun I’ve had in…  well, ever.”  

 

John appraised the steadily growing tower.  “Okay, there are lots of the blocks that we wrote on still easily accessible.  I think we should focus on those.”

 

He pulled one out and read,  “ _What’s one thing you would change about me?_ ”

 

John made sure he had full eye contact with Sherlock before answering.  “I’d change your perception of yourself as someone who I’d want to change.  You’re perfect for me exactly the way you are,” he said seriously.

 

Sherlock looked embarrassed, but pleased.  He paused for a long moment before selecting another handwritten block.  “ _Who was your first crush?_   That’s obvious — you.” 

 

“Really?  I mean, I know you said that before we met you never thought sex was worth the trouble, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you never had a crush on anyone.”

 

“Nope.  You’re my first.  My first everything, I hope.”

 

“That can easily be arranged.”

 

John pressed Sherlock’s knee before choosing his next block.  He froze as he saw what it said.  “Oh, no.  This is one I wrote.  It was supposed to be for you.”  

 

“If you didn’t want it, you should have put an identifying mark on the side.  That’s what I did.”  

 

“That’s cheating.”  

 

“Show me where the rules say you can’t do that.”  

 

“It’s just understood.”  

 

“Not by me.”  

 

John huffed.  

 

“Go on.  Read it,” Sherlock insisted.  

 

“Fine.  _I dare you to hold the dart board in front of your face and let me throw darts at you until I hit the bullseye_.”  

 

Sherlock chuckled darkly.  “Oh, this is going to be fun.”  

 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”  

 

“Well, that’s not very sporting of you, to plan on throwing darts at me and then balk at letting me throw them at you.”  

 

“But I’m an excellent shot.”  

 

“Well, you’d better hope that I am, too.”

 

John reluctantly retrieved the dart board from the cabinet.  It was large enough to cover his face and chest, but left the rest of him alarmingly exposed.

 

“Please be careful.  I may not be able to be your first ‘everything’ if you puncture me.”

 

“I’ll try not to hit anything vital.”

 

“That’s not very reassuring.”

 

Sherlock walked to the far side of the room, took aim, and hurled his first dart.  John flinched as it thudded heavily into the board.

 

“Bullseye!” Sherlock crowed.

 

John sighed with relief, lowering the board to see the perfectly centered dart.  “I never should have doubted you.”

 

“No, you shouldn’t.  I have a vested interest in keeping your anatomy intact.”

 

Sherlock selected his next block and read it aloud.  “ _I dare you to kiss me in a place you’ve never kissed me before._ ”  

 

Grabbing John firmly by the shoulders, Sherlock maneuvered him into the corner of the room.  Then he kissed him soundly on the lips.  “I’ve never kissed you in this corner,” he teased.  

 

“That’s not what I meant,” John objected.  “I meant a place on my body you’d never kissed.”  

 

“Well, you should have written that, then,” Sherlock said with a cheeky wink.

 

John gave him a ‘you just wait’ look.  Then he brought his attention back to the stack of blocks, which was becoming taller and less steady with each passing turn.  He carefully drew out a beige one.  “ _I dare you to give me a 20 minute foot rub._   20 minutes?!  Come on!”  

 

“Yep.  It’s a dare.  You have to do it,” Sherlock smirked.  

 

“Well, you didn’t specify what I had to use to rub your feet.  In fact, you didn’t even specify that it was _your_ feet getting rubbed.  I could spend 20 minutes using _my_ foot to rub your cock.”  

 

“You certainly could.”  

 

John grinned.  Now things were getting interesting.  “Okay — let’s pull our chairs together.  Shoes and socks off.  Your foot in my lap, mine in yours.  You keep your hands to yourself, though — I’m in charge of all the rubbing.”

 

After a hasty shift of seating arrangements, John found himself cradling one of Sherlock’s bony feet.  He caressed it gently before digging his thumbs into the arch.  Sherlock let out a pleased hum.

 

The hum turned to a gasp of surprise as John pressed his own foot into Sherlock’s crotch.  Anchoring his heel against the base of Sherlock’s cock, John pointed and then flexed his foot several times, noting a distinctive swelling through the fabric of his trousers.  

 

“I feel like I’m pumping the gas pedal on a race car,” he teased.  “Vroom!  Vroom!  I wonder how long it’ll take me to get you from zero to a hundred?”

 

Sherlock’s chuckle was breathier than usual.

 

“Trousers off,” John commanded.

 

Sherlock was quick to comply, baring himself from the waist down.  John shucked his own trousers, as well as the silk boxers he’d borrowed from Sherlock.  Then they repositioned themselves, this time each placing both feet in the other’s lap.

 

John’s right foot resumed its press and release movement along the length of Sherlock’s now fully-erect cock.  Meanwhile, he inched his left foot under Sherlock’s bollocks, bringing his big toe to rest against his perineum.

 

Sherlock groaned.

 

The sound made John painfully aware of his own neglected cock.  Pushing Sherlock’s bent knees further apart, he drew the soles of his feet together.  Then he began thrusting through the tight channel formed by Sherlock’s arches.

 

Sherlock was panting now, the rhythmic pressure on his cock just enough to keep him on edge, but not enough to tip him over.  John used his prehensile toes to tease Sherlock’s foreskin.  He began to wiggle the big toe of his other foot, rubbing firmly against Sherlock’s perineum.  

 

The panting turned to moaning, Sherlock’s hands clenching and unclenching on the arms of the chair.  The sight drove John wild.  He increased the speed of his thrusts, fucking through Sherlock’s feet until he came with a shout.

 

John froze for a moment (or an eternity) as his orgasm hit, only brought back to himself by the sound of whimpering.  Sherlock was grinding against his foot, desperate for release.  John redoubled his efforts on Sherlock’s cock, while sliding the toes of his other foot back and pressing, hard.

 

Sherlock came with a choked gasp, mouth falling open in surprise.

 

…

 

It may or may not have been 20 minutes later when they resumed their game of Jenga.     

 

The next block Sherlock selected read “ _What is your favorite part of my body?_ ”  He didn’t have to think before answering, “Right now?  I’d have to say your foot.”

 

“You know, I never understood the whole ‘foot fetish’ thing, but that was pretty fucking hot.”

 

Sherlock hummed in agreement.

 

John removed his next block and stared at the words on it indignantly.  “ _I dare you to find something delicious in the pantry and make it for our dinner._   Hey!  The foot rub worked out for the best, but now you’re just taking advantage.  This game is supposed to be Truth or Dare, not Truth or Slave.”

 

“Hmm…  Truth or Slave — that could be fun to try later.  But right now, it’s Truth or Dare, and you picked a dare, so you have to do it.  It’s in the rules.”

 

“I want to revise my answer to what I’d change about you.”

 

“Nope.  Too late.  You already said I’m perfect.  Now go and make me some dinner.”

 

…

 

Later, over a passable Thai green curry, their conversation turned to the missing clue.

 

“Do you think it’s in one of the games we haven’t played yet?” John asked.

 

“Possibly…  Mycroft loves to appear clever, so hiding a clue in Cluedo is the sort of thing that he would do.  But expecting us to hunt through every game — or every book or DVD, for that matter — just seems too mundane.”

 

“Okay, then.  What else might fall under your brother’s definition of ‘clever’?  Some of the other codes were related to the doors they unlocked: the nursery rhymes about food to enter the pantry, My Beautiful Laundrette for the laundry room, and the clocks for the room labeled _To Help You Pass the Time_.  So what would he use for the _Cold Storage_ room?”

 

Sherlock grabbed John’s face and kissed him.  “You’re a genius!”

 

Striding to the empty refrigerator, he threw open the door and stuck his head inside.  A moment later he emerged, holding a small light bulb.  He showed the tiny letters inscribed on it to John.

 

_(W X Y / C - HFC) / B X N X O X P_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They found the clue! Hooray! Now, can you decode it before I post the next chapter in two weeks? I’ll give you a hint: this is one that Sherlock’s going to figure out. Remember, it’s for a numerical keypad, but we don’t know how many digits. 
> 
> While you’re waiting for the next chapter, may I ask you for a favor? My most popular Johnlock story, Figuring It Out Together, has gradually been creeping toward 10,000 hits. I’m so close now, I feel like Sherlock, hands clenching and unclenching on the arms of my chair, whimpering, desperate to get there. Would you be like John and help push me over the edge? http://archiveofourown.org/works/6115065
> 
> Oh, and what did you think of the impromptu foot jobs?


	5. Number Sense

Sherlock and John stood in front of the door labeled _Cold Storage_.  They peered down at the writing on the light bulb in Sherlock’s hand: _(W X Y / C - HFC) / B X N X O X P_    

 

“Finally, an easy one.”

 

“Are you kidding?” John asked.  “They just look like a bunch of random letters to me.”

 

“Not random, and not just letters.  Note how many times the X appears, along with other mathematical symbols.”

 

“Okay.  So if what I took for a hyphen is subtract, and the slash is divide, then X is multiply.  But what are the other letters?”

 

“They’re chemical symbols.  W is tungsten, atomic number 74.  Y is yttrium, atomic number 39.  74 times 39 gives us 2,886.”

 

“How did you do that so quickly in your head?”

 

“It’s simple.  74 times 40 is 2,960, minus 74 is 2,886.”

 

“Simple for you, maybe.  Mental arithmetic was never my strong suit.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me, then, isn’t it?  Now, C is carbon, atomic number 6, and 2,886 divided by 6 is 481.  Remember that number.”

 

“481.  Got it.”

 

“Okay, now the next three letters have no spaces between them, suggesting that they represent a three digit number.  Hydrogen is 1, fluorine is 9, and carbon is 6, so HFC would be 196.  What’s your number?”

 

“481.”

 

“See, you’re good for something,” Sherlock teased.  “481 minus 196 is 285.  Divided by 5 for boron gives us 57.  Times 7 for nitrogen is 399.”

 

“Seriously?  That quick?”

 

“Dividing by 5 is just doubling and then moving the decimal.  And 50 times 7 is 350, plus 7 times 7 is 49.  Even you could do those without a calculator.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I just did.  Now where was I?”

 

“399.”

 

“Right.  Times 8 for oxygen is 3,192.”

 

“I know you want to tell me how you got that one so fast.”

 

“If you insist.  8 times 400 is 3200, minus 8 is 3,192.  Now all we have to do is multiply by 15 for phosphorus, and we’re done.”

 

“So, what’s the answer?”

 

“I thought I’d let you do this one.”

 

“Sherlock, don’t make me punch you in the brain.”

 

“Come on, John.  To multiply by 15, just add half of your original number and then multiply by 10.”

 

“What number were we at, again?”

 

“3,192.”

 

“So half of that is…”

 

“You can do half of 3200, and then take away half of 8.”

 

“Okay, 1600 minus 4 is 1,596.”

 

“Good.  Now add 1,596 to 3,192.”

 

“You know, we could have had this door open by now if you’d just do it yourself.”

 

“Yes, but then you’d be stuck with the false belief that you’re not capable of mental arithmetic.  1,596 plus 3,192.  Do it.”

 

“Don’t you have some kind of trick for this one?”

 

“They’re not tricks, they’re strategies.  And yes, I do.  1,596 is 4 less than 1600, and 3,192 is 8 less than 3200.  So just add 1600 and 3200 and then subtract 12.”

 

“4800 minus 12 is 4,788.”

 

“Right.  Now just multiply by 10.”

 

“Finally, an easy one.  47,880.  God, there’d better be something good behind this door!”  

 

John typed the code into the keypad, and the door slid open with a quiet hiss.  He and Sherlock stepped through it into a room filled with file boxes.  Sherlock’s eyes lit up as he lifted the lid on the nearest one.

 

“ _Cold Storage_ — yes!  This is so much better than a switch to cut the power to the electric fence.  These boxes contain the evidence from _cold cases_.  It’s Christmas!”

 

John watched with equal parts amusement, perplexity, and fondness as Sherlock opened one box after another, exclaiming over the contents of each with delight.  He did look for all the world like a little boy who’d just found a whole litter of puppies under the Christmas tree.

 

While Sherlock was engrossed in examining the boxes, John explored the room.  The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves containing evidence.  The centre was likewise occupied by several free-standing shelving units.  

 

Although it was pretty obvious that the ‘Cold’ in ‘Cold Storage’ referred to the cold cases, John still searched the room for any sign of a way to turn off the hot wire that was strung along the wall surrounding their island.  There were no electrical switches in view, but he did find a door at the far end of the room labeled COLDER STORAGE.  Perhaps that’s where the power box was located.

 

Like every other door they’d encountered so far, this one had no handle.  Unlike the other doors, however, it had no scanners for palms, or feet, or retinas, and no numerical locking mechanism, either in the form of a keypad, combination dial, or clock.  Its only feature was an indentation in the shape of a figure 8.  Each circle was an inch in diameter, and there was a short horizontal line cutting between them.  John traced the indentation with his finger, but without effect.

 

Deciding that this was a mystery that could wait for another day, John headed back over to Sherlock, who was still happily looking through boxes.

 

“You don’t plan to solve all of those tonight, do you?”

 

“I’m just cataloging them for now.  Determining which are obvious, which are dull, which are worth my time, and which are so fascinating that I want to save them for a special occasion.”

 

“How much longer do you think this cataloging is going to take?”

 

“Oh, ages,” Sherlock said gleefully.  “There must be four dozen cold cases here, dating back as far as the 1800s.”

 

“Well, if they’ve been sitting around for 200 years, I don’t think a few more hours is going to matter much.  It’s late.  Why don’t you come to bed?”

 

“But John, there are _cases_ …”  

 

“I promise to make it worth your while…”

 

Sherlock hesitated.  “My body says yes, but my brain is really getting off on all of this evidence.”

 

“What if I could get your brain and your body off simultaneously?”

 

“I’m intrigued.  What do you have in mind?”

 

“Come to bed, and you’ll find out.”

 

Sherlock came.

 

…

 

In the bedroom, John stripped off Sherlock’s clothes, then his own.  “It’s time for another game,” he said.

 

“I can already tell I’m going to win this one.”

 

John laughed, and kissed him.  “We’re both going to win.  But listen carefully, because you have to follow the rules.  I’m going to give you a blow job.”

 

“I like the first rule,” Sherlock interrupted.

 

“Pay attention,” John said, in a mock-stern voice.  “I promised stimulation for your mind as well as your body, so here’s how we’re going to play it:  I’m going to give you a series of maths problems based on the periodic table, just like the ones you said were so easy earlier.  I’ll put my hand on you while I’m asking the questions, and my mouth on you while you’re thinking.  But if it takes you too long to answer, I’ll stop touching you completely until you regain your powers of mental arithmetic.  Understood?”

 

Sherlock’s eyes lit up.  “Understood.”

 

…

 

Just listening to the rules of the game brought Sherlock’s cock to instant attention.  He sat down on the edge of the bed and spread his knees wide in invitation.  John tossed a pillow on the floor and knelt in front of him.

 

“Ready?” he asked.

 

“Oh, yes.”

 

John brought his hand to Sherlock’s cock and gave a couple of long, slow strokes as he asked, “What’s iron plus lead?”

 

_That one’s too easy_ , Sherlock thought, as John’s mouth closed around the head of his cock.  He pretended to have to think about it for as long as he dared before saying, “108.”

 

John’s hand replaced his mouth as he asked, “What’s platinum minus titanium?”

 

Again, Sherlock stalled in order to keep John’s lips around him for as long as possible before answering, “56.”   

 

“What’s nitrogen times oxygen?

“Also 56.  Come on, John, you have to make these a little more challenging.”

 

John got a wicked gleam in his eyes.  “All right.  But remember, you asked for it.  What’s gold divided by silver?”

 

As John’s head once again began bobbing on his cock, Sherlock realised that he might be in trouble.  79 divided by 47 was not something he could easily calculate in his head, even if he wasn’t distracted by the world’s most talented tongue.  And the longer it took him to try to figure it out, the more distracting that tongue — and those lips, and that hot, wet mouth — became.

 

Sherlock could feel the pressure building.  His thighs clenched involuntarily around John’s head, and his bollocks drew up tight.  He groaned in frustration as John suddenly pulled away.

 

“I guess I need to let some of that blood return to your brain,” John said, teasingly.  “Give me the answer, and I’ll finish you off.”

 

Sherlock stared at him, wide-eyed. 

 

John grinned back at him.  “I promised to get you off mentally, as well as physically.  So come on, genius…”

 

“Can I just calculate it to two decimal places?”

 

John pretended to think for a moment.  “Okay — but only because I love you.”

 

Sherlock’s body relaxed as he said, softly, “I love you, too.”

 

Then he girded his mental loins (while his actual loins screamed at him to hurry the fuck up) and focused on the maths.  A minute later, he had his answer.  “1.68.”

 

John patted his thigh.  “That wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

 

Sherlock huffed.  

 

“And, for the record, there’s no way I could know whether you’re right or not, so you could have basically just blurted out any random number.”

 

Before Sherlock could retort, John’s mouth wiped all thoughts from his mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any science/math nerds out there? Did you have fun with that code? Just in case it ever comes up for you in casual conversation (or in a sexy math game) gold divided by silver is 1.68085106383.
> 
> How do you think they’ll get into the Colder Storage room? And what do you think they’ll find inside? As always, I love to hear your ideas.
> 
> In the two weeks since my last update, I’ve been a VERY busy writer. I’ve contributed three fics to the Halloweenlock 2016 collection, all of which are also part of my Spooky Johnlock Stories series — http://archiveofourown.org/series/560890. I’ve also written a dozen songs — the Ballads of John and Sherlock — with tunes ranging from “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” to “Billy Jean” and lyrics that run the gamut from pure fluff to filthy PWP. You can find them at http://archiveofourown.org/series/563162. 
> 
> And if that wasn’t enough, I’m participating in the Sherlock Fall TV Season 2016 challenge. I’m doing a fusion with The Mole, in which ten strangers — Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Martha Hudson, Molly Hooper, Jim Moriarty, Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Philip Anderson, Mary Morstan, and Irene Adler — must work as a team to win money on a reality TV show hosted by Mycroft Holmes. The twist? One of them is a mole, hired by the producers to sabotage the game. Check out episode 1 — Meet the Contestants — http://archiveofourown.org/works/8284384
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who helped push Figuring It Out Together over the 10K hit mark. I love you!!!! <3


	6. Sense of Hearing

Over breakfast the next morning, John mentioned the door he’d seen marked _Colder Storage_.

 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Sherlock asked.

 

“You were so engrossed in your evidence boxes, and then I was so engrossed in getting you off, that I guess it slipped my mind.”

 

“Good answer.  So, do you know where to look for the next clue?”

 

“Yes, Sherlock.  Even I — a man barely intelligent enough to come top of my med school class at St. Bart’s — can deduce that if ‘cold storage’ referred to the refrigerator, then ‘colder storage’ probably refers to the freezer.”

 

Sherlock leapt up, tousling John’s hair affectionately as he went past.  He returned to the table a moment later, holding a small light bulb.  

 

“For my conductor of light,” he said with mock-ceremony, presenting it to John.

 

John peered at the tiny writing on the bulb, then read it aloud.  “Beach Boys 1966.”

 

“Does that mean anything to you?”

 

“Well, I could probably sing the chorus to half a dozen of their songs, but I was never a major fan, so I couldn’t tell you what exactly they were doing in 1966.”

 

“You said the locking mechanism was just a figure-8-shaped indentation?”

 

“Yeah.  Or maybe it was meant to be an infinity symbol, turned sideways.”

 

“Do the Beach Boys have any songs about the number 8, or about infinity?”

 

“Not that I know of.  But, like I said, I’m not a huge fan.  Maybe Mycroft left us some of their CDs in the entertainment centre.”

 

…

 

The only Beach Boys CD they found was a compilation album entitled _The Very Best Of The Beach Boys_.  John and Sherlock sat on the sofa, heads close together, looking at the tracks listed on the back of the case.

 

01\. Good Vibrations  
02\. California Girls  
03\. I Get Around  
04\. Wouldn't It Be Nice  
05\. Surfin' Safari  
06\. Fun Fun Fun  
07\. Surfin' USA  
08\. Help Me Rhonda  
09\. Don't Worry Baby  
10\. When I Grow Up (To Be A Man)  
11\. Little Deuce Coupe  
12\. Dance Dance Dance  
13\. Little Honda  
14\. Do You Wanna Dance  
15\. Surfer Girl  
16\. Then I Kissed Her  
17\. God Only Knows  
18\. Caroline, No  
19\. Sloop John B  
20\. Barbara Ann  
21\. Heroes And Villains  
22\. Do It Again  
23\. Darlin’  
24\. Wild Honey  
25\. Break Away  
26\. Rock And Roll Music  
27\. I Can Hear Music  
28\. Cotton Fields (The Cotton Song)  
29\. Lady Lynda  
30\. Kokomo

 

“There’s nothing here to indicate what year any of these songs were first released,” John said.

 

“Let’s start with number 8,” Sherlock suggested.  “Maybe there’s a clue in the lyrics.”

 

As “Help Me Ronda” started playing, John pulled Sherlock up into an impromptu dance.  They wiggled and twisted and shimmied wildly around the room, singing along.  When the song ended, they collapsed together on the sofa, laughing.

 

“God, those lyrics are repetitive,” John said.  “Did you catch anything we could use as a clue?”

 

“Not unless there’s a girl named Ronda hiding in one of the cupboards, waiting to pop out and help us.”

 

“Help me Ronda, help, help me Ronda,” John sang.

 

Sherlock bumped their shoulders together.  “Let’s listen to the whole album,” he suggested.  “Maybe the clue is in one of the other songs.  And even if it’s not, I like dancing with you.”

 

An hour and a half later, John and Sherlock were tired and sweaty, but no closer to figuring out how to get into the _Colder Storage_ room.

 

“I’m ready for a break,” John said.  “Do you know what I would absolutely love to do?”

 

“Give me another foot rub?”

 

“Tempting, but no.  I’d love to cuddle with you on the sofa and watch James Bond.”

 

“Hmm…  I’ve never seen a James Bond film, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try.  Which one’s your favorite?”

 

“They’re all good.  I thought we could start at the beginning, and have our own private movie marathon.”

 

“How many are there?”

 

“Too many to watch in one day.  It’ll have to be a multi-day viewing party.”

 

“I’ll agree to _one_ ,” Sherlock said.  “After that, I’m not making any promises.”

 

“Oh, one is all it’ll take to get you hooked,” John said confidently.  He slipped the DVD of _Dr. No_ into the player, and then made himself comfortable, snuggled up against Sherlock.

 

…

 

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to realise two things: James Bond was utterly ridiculous, and he, himself, was so utterly, ridiculously in love with John that he’d be willing to sit through every single film just to make him happy.  He alternated between watching the movie and watching John’s reaction to it, the latter being much more interesting.

 

After _Dr. No_ , they took a break for lunch — eating being another thing that Sherlock found himself glad to do to make John happy — and then popped _From Russia with Love_ into the DVD player.  They were halfway through _Goldfinger_ before Sherlock decided that he could find a better way of enjoying the movie with John.

 

He slid to the floor and buried his face in John’s lap.  

 

“Not that I’m complaining,” John said, “but you’re not going to be able to see much from down there.”

 

“My view is perfect,” Sherlock said, as he lowered John’s flies and nuzzled him through the thin fabric of his pants.

 

“Mmmm…  Do you want me to pause the film, so you don’t miss anything?”

 

“Nope.  I’ve got a perfect sense of hearing.  Even when there’s no dialogue, I can tell exactly what’s happening, just by listening to the score and the overblown sound effects.” 

 

“Well, then, be my guest,” John said, spreading his knees in invitation.

 

…

 

Once the movie — and John — had reached a climax, Sherlock climbed back up on the sofa to enjoy some cuddling during the closing credits.  

 

As the last notes of the score faded, he briefly considered allowing the movie marathon to continue, but decided against it.  Instead, he got up and crossed the room to the cabinet that held his violin and John’s clarinet.

 

“I noticed earlier that there was some sheet music in here, but I didn’t look through it all.  Maybe there’s something by The Beach Boys from 1966.”

 

John joined him, and together they looked through the stack of loose pages.  There were some modern songs, as well as classical pieces, but nothing that seemed related to the clue they were trying to solve.

 

John giggled when he found one labeled _Fuchs Duo No. 1 for Clarinet and Violin, op. 14_.  “I can’t tell you how many fuchs I don’t give about classical music.”

 

Sherlock snorted.  “Childish, John.  And you know that I actually love classical music.  Are you good enough to play this?”

 

“I’m good enough to try.”

 

Sherlock carefully removed his violin from it’s case, tuned it by ear, and then tightened and rosined his bow.  John popped his clarinet reed into his mouth to moisten it while he assembled his instrument.  Once both men were ready, they began to play.

 

Sherlock quickly lost himself in the music, as he so often did while playing.  This was different, though.  The clear notes of John’s clarinet wove in and out of his own melody in a way that was almost like making love.

 

Glancing at John, Sherlock could tell that he felt it, as well.  As the music — and his heart — swelled, Sherlock marvelled at the realisation that he would never grow tired of finding new ways to connect with this man.   

 

…

 

Later that night, curled up with John in bed, Sherlock hummed in contentment.  He was just about to drift off to sleep when it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t thought about his cold cases all day.  And he didn’t even mind.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any Beach Boys fans out there? What do you think that clue means? 
> 
> OMG — Last week, Benedict Cumberbatch and Tilda Swinton actually played Jenga with fans’ questions written on the blocks! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6cWYvZZf8I I’m going to choose to believe that they got the idea from this fic!
> 
> I’ve been busy again. If you’re up for a giggle, check out my new series — Mother Goose Ships Johnlock — at http://archiveofourown.org/series/573346. There are nine twisted nursery rhymes so far, with more on the way. :)
> 
> Plus, I wrote two more of my Children's Classics with a Johnlock Twist. If You Give Sherlock a Biscuit (http://archiveofourown.org/works/8366656) is my take on If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, while Goodnight Sherlock, Goodnight John (http://archiveofourown.org/works/8373325) is the Johnlock version of Goodnight, Moon. 
> 
> And if you missed last week’s episode of my Sherlock Fall TV Season fusion - The Mole: Shear Madness - there’s a rerun playing today. From now through January, I’ll be posting new chapters of this story and that one on alternate Saturdays. Check it out. http://archiveofourown.org/works/8284384


	7. Sense of Curiosity

“John?”

 

“Mmm…”

 

“I’m curious about something…”

 

“Hmm?” John responded, still mostly asleep.

 

“I’ve never actually seen the contents of your bedside table drawer.”

 

It took a moment for John’s drowsy brain to process those words, but once he realised what Sherlock meant, he snapped into wakefulness.

 

“And you’d like to rectify that?”

 

“Yes.  I’ve avoided thinking about the sex toys you mentioned, because the idea of my brother leaving them here for us creeps me out, but I’ve decided to delete Mycroft’s involvement, and just view them with an open mind.”

 

“And you can do that?  Just delete something like that?”

 

“Yes.  If I allowed myself to remember everything, my Mind Palace would become horribly cluttered.  So, I periodically tidy up and put the rubbish in the bin.  And then, every so often, I haul the bin out to the skip, and it’s gone for good.”

 

“And that’s what you’re going to do when it comes to Mycroft and my bedside table drawer?”

 

“That’s what I do with quite a lot of things having to do with Mycroft.  The less I think about him, the better.”

 

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute, and John could almost see the wheels turning in his brain, whisking away all thoughts of his brother.  When Sherlock opened his eyes again, they were gleaming with curiosity.

 

“So, John, care to show me what you found?”

 

John placed his palm flat on the scanner atop his bedside table, and the drawer slid open. 

 

The first time he’d opened this drawer — long before he and Sherlock became a couple — John had only given the items it contained a brief glance before zeroing in on the key they’d been looking for.  Since then, he hadn’t wanted to look inside again until Sherlock was ready to do so with him.  Now, he found himself quite curious about the assortment of sex toys he’d glimpsed before.

 

Several of the toys came in packaging marked **BOYZ SHOP: FOR MEN WHO FUCK MEN**.  John pulled out a box and read the label:

 

**Plunge this purple dong into your ass, and crank up the vibrator!**

_The vibrator is strong, and multi-speed. The contours are firm enough for you to feel them all while still being deliciously flexible. Best of all is the material. While it may have the flex of PVC jelly rubber, it doesn't have the smell, and it doesn't get greasy or sticky. If you like vibrating cock, this is a great option._

 

**Purple Vibrating Dildo Specs and Benefits:**

_Size: Measures approx. 8" total length, 7" insertable length, 1.5" in width and 5" in circumference_

_Material: phthalate-free TPE_

_Head is flexible to work with the contours of your body_

_Multiple-speed dial allows you to find that ideal setting_

 

John passed the dildo to Sherlock, whose mouth was hanging slightly open. 

 

“Why is it purple?” 

 

“I guess some men find purple sexy.  I know there’s one purple shirt of yours that I’m always tempted to rip right off of you.”

 

Sherlock smiled at that before reaching for another box.  He held it so that John could read along with him.  

 

**Ease slowly into anal play with these fun anal beads!**

_The tightest anal virgin could take the first bead or two on this toy, and work his way up to all of them. What really stands out is the break between the beads, so you feel each and every one on its own. Even if you're not new to anal play, it can be a very enjoyable bead set._

 

**First Timer Anal Beads Specs and Benefits:**

_Size: 10.88" total length, 9.5" insertable, beads range from .64" to 1.24"_

_Material: PVC_

_Waterproof: Yes_

_Super-slim shaft for extra comfort_

_4 different sized beads_

 

John took out the string of pink beads to examine more closely, while Sherlock picked up the next box.  His cry of excitement immediately seized John’s full attention.

 

“Here’s what we’ve been searching for!”

 

John read the label on the box in Sherlock’s hands.

 

**Lock in a big veiny vibrating erection!**

_This comfortable and easy double cock ring allows you to constrict your cock and balls in a variety of configurations. The stretchy rings do a great job of keeping blood from flowing back out of your cock, helping create a bigger veinier erection. You can use it around the base of your cock and balls, the base of your cock, or your scrotum. The vibrator will vibrate against you balls and the base of your cock, keeping you in a constant state of excitement._

 

**Vibrating Double Cock and Ball Ring Specs and Benefits:**

_Size: Each ring measures 1 inch in diameter unstretched_

_Material: TPR, ABS plastic_

_The cock ring helps men maintain a longer-lasting, harder erection_

_Rings can be placed around cock and balls, both on cock, or both on balls_

 

“Umm…” John said, struggling to hide his dismay.  “Do you feel like one of us has been having trouble maintaining a satisfactory erection?”

 

“What?  No — of course not!  Look at the shape, John!”

 

Mind no longer clouded by the horrifying thought that Sherlock found his cock somehow lacking, John turned his attention to the picture on the box.  The double cock ring formed a figure 8, bisected by the line of a cylindrical vibrator.  

 

“Oh!  _Good Vibrations!”_

 

“Exactly!” 

 

…

 

Sherlock placed the double cock ring into the indentation on the door marked COLDER STORAGE.  It was a perfect fit.  As soon as he switched the vibrator on, the door slid open.

 

Sherlock and John stepped through the doorway into a large room.  Florescent overhead lights gleamed off of the chrome freezer units lining the walls.  Sherlock whooped in delight at the sight of the microscope and other laboratory equipment on one of the glass-topped work tables in the centre of the room. 

 

As Sherlock went to inspect the lab equipment, John began opening the freezers.  His whoop of delight was as heartfelt as Sherlock’s when he discovered that the first one was filled with frozen meat.  He found steaks, lamb chops, pork loins, and several whole chickens.  

 

The second freezer contained fruits and vegetables — strawberries, blueberries, broccoli, spinach, carrots, green beans, etc.  While not quite as exciting to John as the meat, they would be a welcome change from the canned and/or dehydrated fare that he and Sherlock had been living on.  

 

John was even more thrilled by the contents of the next freezer.  His mouth began watering over the ice cream, cheese cake, tiramisu, and other treats within.  All of these appetising sights left John completely unprepared for what he found in the fourth freezer he opened.

 

“Jesus Christ!  Is that a cadaver?!”

 

Sherlock was instantly by his side.  Instead of sharing John’s horror, though, he examined the body with enthusiasm.

 

“Oh!  I wonder whether this is a victim from one of the cold cases.  Can you determine cause of death, John?”

 

“I’d say he’s currently suffering from hypothermia,” was John’s deadpan response.

 

“True.  We’ll have to thaw him out before we delve deeper.”

 

“You’re a bit of a mad scientist, aren’t you?”

 

“Problem?”

 

“No.  Just an observation.  Although, if you stick this guy on the electric fence in an attempt to bring him back to life, don’t expect me to save you when he goes on a rampage.  I’ll be locked in here where it’s safe, eating ice cream.”

 

“Oooh — you found ice cream?”

 

“Yep.  And lots of other things that one wouldn’t need to be a cannibal to enjoy eating.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know.  There’s some human flesh that I’ve found I quite enjoy having in my mouth…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, BOYZ SHOP: FOR MEN WHO FUCK MEN exists, and yes, they do sell all of the items mentioned. I copied the descriptions directly from their website. If you want to see a picture of the key to the Colder Storage room lock, and you don’t mind that a couple of the photos show it in use on a naked man, check it out at https://www.boyzshop.com/vibrating-double-cock-and-ball-ring_3856.html
> 
> If the pseudo-cannibalism reference above intrigues you, you might want to check out one of my new stories — The Gingerbread Detective. Along with Sherlock and the Three Watsons, and Little Red Buttonhole, it’s part of my Children’s Classics with a Johnlock Twist series. You can find them all at http://archiveofourown.org/series/572665
> 
> As always, your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. :)


	8. Sense of Connection

As the days went by, an unfamiliar feeling settled over Sherlock: contentment.  Against all odds, for the first time in his life, Sherlock Holmes was wholly content.

 

Up until this point, Sherlock had never dwelt on the fact that his needs were not being met.  Some of those needs — physical requirements, like food and sleep — he’d taken a sort of pride in ignoring.  Other needs — like intellectual stimulation — he’d resigned himself to largely doing without, given the deplorably dull state of the world.  And still others — like companionship and intimacy — he’d never acknowledged as needs at all. 

 

Now, though, he was thriving — physically, mentally, and emotionally.  

 

Sherlock’s body had filled out a bit from the regular meals that he and John prepared together.  The exercise they got from daily walks around the island, as well as playful sparring and wrestling matches, was toning his muscles in a way that he could see John admiring.  And his libido — so long held in check — was taking full advantage of the free rein he now gave it.

 

Sherlock’s mind was likewise delightfully engaged.  There were cold cases to investigate, experiments to conduct, and puzzles to solve.  Less challenging — but almost as interesting — there were documentaries to watch about otters, and penguins, and bees.  There were also books of poetry — from Shakespeare to Emily Dickinson to Walt Whitman — that he and John took turns reading aloud.  And, of course, there were games to play.  Sherlock had never been less bored.

 

The emotional component of Sherlock’s contentment was the most unexpected.  He had no frame of reference for the way he felt about John.  He cared about what John thought, and about what he wanted.  He enjoyed John’s company to a degree he wouldn’t have believed possible.  With John, he felt seen and valued, safe and loved.  

 

And Sherlock loved John back, with his whole heart. 

 

…

 

John Watson was in love.  

 

It infused his every fiber, his every moment.  Waking or sleeping; talking, laughing, or silent; from the kitchen to the game room to the mad scientist’s lab: his love for Sherlock was there.

 

The bedroom, though…  Well, that was a special place. 

 

From the first time Sherlock had taken his hand — so long ago, when they’d barely known each other, and the gesture had been merely one of practicality to avoid getting separated in the dark — John had felt an instant sense of connection.  Something about that touch just seemed _right:_ as though John’s body was meant to be in contact with Sherlock’s; as though their very molecules were drawn to each other. 

 

Each new level of physical intimacy had carried that same gravity.  From their first kiss, to their first cuddle, to their first mutual orgasms, every touch _meant_ something.  Whether tender or urgent, playful or filled with passion, John always felt that he and Sherlock were making love.

 

Although it was all new to him, Sherlock was quite open-minded when it came to sex.  So far, he’d been willing to try anything John suggested.  This was both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing for obvious reasons.  But a curse, as well, since it left John feeling like he needed to be the one to ensure that they took things slowly enough not to overwhelm his enthusiastic but inexperienced lover.

 

When it came to anal sex, John, too, was a virgin.  As a doctor, he’d given his fair share of prostate exams, but clinical experience with human anatomy did nothing to quell his nervous anticipation.  The act of penetration just seemed so _fraught:_ fraught with the potential for accidentally hurting each other, as well as fraught with significance for their relationship.  And so, although they’d discussed it in theory, John had held off on initiating that next step.

 

He should have known that Sherlock would have no such hesitation.

 

…

 

It happened one morning, after they’d showered together, but before they got dressed.  

 

“Give me your hand,” Sherlock said.

 

When John complied, Sherlock led him to his bedside table, and placed his palm flat on the scanner.  The drawer slid open and Sherlock reached in, removing the condoms and lube.  He handed them to John.

 

“What’re these for,” John asked.

 

“Don’t be an idiot.  The lube is to slick up your fingers so they’ll slide into me more easily, and the condom is to prevent us from sharing any communicable diseases.  I thought you were supposed to be a doctor.”

 

“Right.  You, uh, just caught me off guard.  So we’re doing this, then.”

 

“Unless you’ve changed your mind, and no longer want to.”

 

“No, no.  It’s, um…  No, I definitely want to.”

 

“Well, then, stop babbling and get on with it.”

 

“Shut up, you hopeless romantic.”

 

“Make me,” Sherlock teased. 

 

So John tackled him onto the bed and kissed him until they were both too breathless for words.

 

And then it was easy.  Easy, and simple, and completely _them_.  

 

John’s fingers knew just what to do, and Sherlock’s body opened up so beautifully around them.  Slowly, gently, softly, softly.  Time stretched like taffy in the hot sun as John eased his cock inside Sherlock.      

 

The sense of connection was so profound that it brought tears to John’s eyes.  

 

Still, it was no more and no less profound than their first kiss, or their first cuddle, or any of their other first times.  Because it wasn’t about what they were _doing_ ; it was about who they _were_ , together: fully themselves, and fully accepted.

 

Connected.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a bit shorter than usual, but I felt like I said all I needed to say. If you have something to add, please leave me a comment. :)
> 
> And if you’d like a little change of pace from soft and romantic to humorous and irreverent, check out my new series — Johnlock Comes A-Wassailing — http://archiveofourown.org/series/591307


	9. This is not a real chapter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize. Real life and my other writing projects have conspired to prevent me from giving you my regularly scheduled update on this story. I will post the real chapter 9 — Sense of Taste and Smell — in two weeks. Here’s a little teaser to whet your appetite: I plan to include anatomically correct gingerbread men, shower sex, and rimming with cherry-flavored lube.
> 
> In the meantime, you might want to get in the holiday spirit with my ongoing series, Johnlock Comes A-Wassailing: http://archiveofourown.org/series/591307 The first entry — “Seven Days of Ugly Christmas Apparel” — now has glorious NSFW cover art by IamJohnLocked4art and an absolutely delightful podfic by Lockedinjohnlock. You can find them at http://archiveofourown.org/works/8800312 and http://archiveofourown.org/works/8804422

Please forgive the delay. I hope the chapter I eventually write will be worth the wait. :)


	10. Sense of Taste and Smell

Sherlock and John walked hand-in-hand across the island, which was now carpeted in early wildflowers.  Sherlock began to sing, so low he was barely audible over the wind.

 

_“Seasons may change, winter to spring_

_But I love you until the end of time…”_

 

He trailed off, and John squeezed his hand.

 

“I knew you were enjoying _Moulin Rouge_ last night.  You can’t fool me with all of your ‘this is sentimental nonsense’ grumbling.”

 

“The fact that it was sentimental nonsense and the fact that I enjoyed it are not mutually exclusive.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

…

 

Back inside, John said, “The gingerbread dough should be thawed by now.  Want to help me make gingerbread men?”

 

“Only if we can make them anatomically correct.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The two men giggled like schoolboys as they fashioned bits of dough into ridiculously well-endowed little men.  The ratio of penis to body became more and more disproportionate with each figure, until they ended up filling the rest of the tray with nothing but gingerbread cocks.  

 

“Oh, this one looks just like yours,” Sherlock said, admiring his own handiwork.  “I’m going to enjoy deep-throating this.” 

 

John snorted.  “You’ve made it too big.”

 

“Poppycock.  I’ve made it exactly to scale.”  

 

“More like floppy-cock.  It’s going to end up raw in the middle, because it won’t cook through before the rest of the biscuits are burnt.”

 

“Not to worry.  We’ll take the inferior specimens out early, and stick this baby back in to bake until it’s hot and ready for my mouth.”

 

“I’m always hot and ready for your mouth.”

 

“I know,” Sherlock said.  He gave John a _just-wait-until-later_ kiss before popping the tray into the oven.

 

Soon the kitchen filled with the enticing scent of baking gingerbread.  When the timer went off, John pulled his lips away from Sherlock’s and removed the tray from the oven.  He carefully slid most of the biscuits onto a rack to cool.

 

The life-sized model of John’s cock had swelled during baking to larger-than-life size.  As he had predicted, it wasn’t fully cooked.  He put the tray back into the oven for a few more minutes.

 

When it was finally done, John had to bat Sherlock’s hand away.  “Wait!  I don’t want you burning your fingers, or your tongue.  I have plans for them later.”

 

Sherlock responded by biting the head off of one of the — already cool — little gingerbread men.

 

“Vicious,” John said.

 

“Oh, you just wait and see what I’m going to do to that cock.  Your _‘no teeth during a blow job’_ rule doesn’t apply to biscuits.” 

 

…

 

Once the gingerbread had been devoured, and the kitchen returned to a state of reasonable cleanliness, Sherlock said, “I’m off to the lab.  I’ve got an experiment I want to work on.”

 

“Do you need help?”

 

“No.  Although I do always enjoy your company, if there’s nothing else you’d rather do.”  
  
“Actually, I think I’ll take a little break from playing mad scientist.  I finished my book yesterday, and I’d like to find something else to read.”

 

They parted ways, and John went in search of new reading material.  As he browsed through the contents of the bookcase, he dislodged a sheet of paper that had been wedged between two volumes.  It fluttered to the floor, and he bent to retrieve it.

 

It was a piece of old parchment from the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, with a list of reasons for admission.  John read it with a mix of amusement and horror.

 

 

He skimmed past MENTAL EXCITEMENT, NOVEL READING, NYMPHOMANIA, and OPIUM HABIT, and was just wondering about OVER ACTION OF THE MIND when there was a sudden **_BOOM!_**

 

John’s body was in a duck-and-cover position under the table before his conscious mind registered the sound of the explosion.  The instant his brain caught up, he had only one thought: _Sherlock!_

 

Heart in his throat, John raced toward the lab.  As he dashed through the Cold Storage room, the door to the Colder Storage room opened, disgorging a cloud of foul-smelling smoke and a rather dazed-looking Sherlock.  

 

“I’ve disproved my hypothesis,” Sherlock said, between coughs.

 

John rushed to him, quickly checking for injuries.  Finding none, he dragged Sherlock out into the fresher air of the sitting room before going back to throw open all of the windows.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Yes.  Just badly in need of a shower.”

 

“Come on, then.  You reek.  Let’s leave your clothes out here, so we don’t stink up the bedroom.”

 

John stripped an unprotesting Sherlock and then led him off for a much-needed shower. 

 

…

 

As the warm water cascaded over them, John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s body, checking and rechecking to make sure that he was whole and unscathed.

 

“I’m fine, John.  Just a little mishap in the lab.  No harm done to anything except my pride and my sense of smell.”

 

“I know.  But I need to do this, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

Sherlock stood patiently as John re-examined every inch of him.  Once he was satisfied, John lathered up a flannel with kumquat-scented shower gel and began washing away every last trace of the near-disaster.  He finished up by shampooing Sherlock’s hair.

 

Sherlock hummed with pleasure as John’s blunt fingernails scritched over his scalp.  He allowed John to tilt his head back to rinse away the suds before massaging in a generous amount of conditioner.  As that, too, disappeared down the drain, Sherlock finally spoke.

 

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You’re still shaking.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Let me make it up to you.”

 

Sherlock washed John with the same tenderness John had shown him.  Then he sank to his knees.

 

John gazed down at him.  “I like where this seems to be going, but I don’t want you to drown.”

 

“Just step forward a little so you’re blocking the spray…  There.  Good.” 

 

“Remember, I’m not made of gingerbread.  The ‘no teeth’ rule is back in effect.”

 

Sherlock grinned up at him.  He made a show of covering his teeth with his lips before swallowing John down like a biscuit.

 

…

 

“Now that we’re both clean and relaxed, I’m in the mood for a little experiment,” Sherlock said, striding over to John’s bedside table.

 

“So long as it doesn’t involve explosive chemicals, I’m up for anything,” John said, opening the drawer.  “What do you have in mind?”

 

Sherlock reached in and fished out the cherry-flavoured lube and the pink anal beads.  “Can I try these out on you?”

 

“Mmm…  Yeah.”  

 

John flopped face-first onto the bed, boneless now that Sherlock had sucked all of the residual adrenaline out of his system.

 

“Lift your hips,” Sherlock said.  When John complied, Sherlock placed a pillow beneath his pelvis, arranging his currently flaccid cock into a position that would provide room for expansion.  “Comfortable?” he asked.

 

“Very.”

 

“Good.”

 

Sherlock squeezed a dollop of lube into his palm and warmed it between his hands before thoroughly coating the anal beads.  He rubbed more lube over his fingers and circled them around John’s pucker.

 

“Is this okay?”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

…

 

John closed his eyes and gave himself over to Sherlock’s experimentation.  He wasn’t capable of another erection yet, but he was enjoying the novel sensation of the anal beads.  Unlike Sherlock’s fingers, which provided a steady stretch, each bead caused his sphincter muscles to expand to accept it, and then contract again once it was inside.  It was an odd but not unwelcome feeling.

 

The first bead slipped in and out quite easily.  The second, slightly larger bead took a bit longer.  Sherlock seemed to be in no hurry, though, and John was content to drift in his post-blow-job bliss until his body gradually opened around it.

 

Sherlock slid the first two beads slowly in and out, allowing the third, still larger, bead to press more and more firmly against him with each in-stroke.  Eventually all resistance melted, and it popped inside.

 

The tip of the first bead was now just barely nudging against John’s prostate.  What had been a pleasant but not particularly arousing experience suddenly kicked up a notch.  John felt his cock stir beneath him in renewed interest.

 

“Good?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Mmmhmm…  More…”

 

Sherlock gave a low chuckle.  Again, he began the slow push/pull of the beads, now stimulating John’s prostate with each stroke.  The sensation was a maddening tease.  John grew impatient, and shoved his hips back against the largest bead, bearing down and sucking it in.  He groaned at the sudden fullness and firm pressure against his prostate.

 

John expected Sherlock to give him a moment to adjust before resuming the in and out slide of the beads.  Instead, he felt something warm and wet against his fluttering rim.  Sherlock was _licking_ him!

 

Sherlock’s clever tongue flicked and swirled and drove John absolutely wild.  He pushed himself up onto forearms and knees, freeing his aching erection.  Supporting himself on his good shoulder, John reached for his cock.  A few rough strokes, and he was coming.

 

John cried out as Sherlock pulled the beads from his spasming hole.  He collapsed back down onto the bed, panting.

 

“Oh my god.  That was intense.” 

 

Sherlock kissed his way up John’s body, which was still shuddering with aftershocks.  He rolled John onto his back and kissed him.

 

“You taste like fruit salad,” John said.

 

“Cherry-flavoured lube and kumquat shower gel will do that.”

 

“Mmm…  Kiss me again.”

 

…

 

Later, after more kisses, and a brief nap, Sherlock dragged himself away from John’s still-sleeping form to wash off the anal beads and return them and the lube to the bedside table drawer, which was still open.

 

He was about to slide the drawer closed when something caught his eye.  What at first glance appeared to be the bottom of the drawer was in fact a piece of heavy card stock.  Sherlock lifted it up to reveal a false bottom, secured by a combination lock with 16 dials, each containing a complete set of letters.  Turning the card stock over in his hand, Sherlock read the message printed on the back:

 

**_There are 86 reasons for commitment, but you only need 69._ **

 

Hmm…  Now what could that mean?

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make this chapter 10, since I didn’t want to lose the lovely supportive comments I received on the “not really a chapter” version of chapter 9. Thank you so much for your patience and understanding. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. :)
> 
> Look! Another clue? What could it mean? And what might be hidden in the false bottom of that drawer? I’d love to hear your theories.
> 
> Want some more anatomically correct gingerbread Johnlockary? Check out The Gingerbread Detective http://archiveofourown.org/works/8529472
> 
> A week ago, I took the plunge into the deep, dark waters of tumblr. Come say “hi” and introduce yourself, so I’ll know who to follow. I’m at chriscalledmesweetie.tumblr.com 
> 
> Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyful Solstice, gleeful days of every sort, and a Johnlocky New Year to you all! :D


	11. Sense of Commitment

“John?”

 

“Hmmm…?” John responded, still mostly asleep.

 

“Have you ever tried 69?”

 

John shook himself out of his dream — something about eating a life-sized gingerbread detective — and tried to focus on Sherlock’s words.  It took a moment for his brain to make sense of them.  When at last he realised that his lover had woken him up from his nap to discuss sexual positions, he chuckled ruefully.

 

“Yeah, once, with a girlfriend at uni.  It was not a resounding success.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“We just couldn’t get ourselves coordinated.  The angles were all wrong, and she kept stopping to complain that I was missing the mark, so to speak.  Then she ended up literally sitting on my face and nearly suffocating me.  I gave her bum a shove in self-defence and she lost her balance and accidentally bit me.  Neither one of us ended up getting off, and we broke up the next day.”

 

“Not an experience you’d be interested in repeating, I take it.”

 

“With her?  No.  But if it’s something you want to try, I’d be willing to give it another go.  Don’t get your hopes up too high, though.  I’m not sure it’s all that it’s cracked up to be.  Aside from the awkward angles and the near-suffocation and the biting, I think it’s just kind of hard to focus on your own pleasure and somebody else’s at the same time.”

 

“But that’s what we always do when we make love.  At least, that’s what _I’m_ always doing.  Do you mean to say that you don’t enjoy touching me?”

 

Sherlock looked stricken.  John hurried to reassure him.

 

“Oh, baby, no!  I _love_ touching you.  You _know_ I do.  That’s not what I meant at all.  When I’ve got my hands on you, or my mouth on you, I’m totally getting off on getting you off.  Feeling you, or tasting you, and seeing you come undone… and those sounds that you make — god, that’s the hottest thing ever.  Sometimes I think I could come just listening to you.  There’s no way that you, of all people, could have failed to notice how turned on I get when I’m touching you.”

 

Sherlock’s tension evaporated.  He gave John a quick kiss.  “Right.  But what _did_ you mean, then?”

 

“I don’t know.  Maybe it’s just that I’m not good at multi-tasking.  I mean, hand jobs are easy — I’ve been practicing on myself since I hit puberty — but blow jobs take a bit more concentration.  Every time I get you in my mouth, I feel like all of my attention is on what I’m doing to you, and how you’re responding.  And yeah, it drives me wild, but it’s _your_ pleasure that I’m getting off on, and having my own cock sucked at the same time would almost be a distraction.  Does that make sense?”  

 

Sherlock responded with another kiss.  Then he pulled away with a thoughtful expression.  “Mmm…  What if, instead of being simultaneous, it was a series of turns?  You could try something on me, and then I could duplicate it on you, back-and-forth.  We could make a game out of it.”

 

“You and your games,” John said, completely failing to hit the chastising tone he’d been aiming for.

 

“It would be fun,” Sherlock said, warming to the idea.  “We could even turn it into a competition — whoever comes first has to give the other a foot massage.”

 

“You and your games _and_ your foot massages!” John laughed.  “This is Jenga all over again.  Fine, you’re on.  Just let me go to the loo first.”

 

By the time John returned, Sherlock had removed the duvet from the bed and was lying on his side, naked.  He patted the spot in front of him.

 

“Since we’re going to be at this for a while, I thought it would be more comfortable if we’re both lying down.”

 

“Good idea,” John said, joining him on the bed.  He manoeuvred himself into position, being careful not to knee Sherlock in the head.  “Okay — you said I could go first — are you ready?”

 

“Go for it.”

 

John began by placing a hand on Sherlock’s hip and rubbing a slow circle.  Sherlock duplicated the motion on John’s hip.  So far, so good.  

 

John slid his hand to Sherlock’s waist, giving a little squeeze.  Sherlock jumped.

 

“Hey!  No tickling!”

 

He gave a retaliatory squeeze, making John giggle.

 

“Okay, okay.  No tickling,” John agreed.

 

He moved his hand back to Sherlock’s hip before blowing lightly across his half-hard cock.  A moment later, he felt a puff of air across his own cock, which was showing a decided interest in this game.  

 

But although John really did want to play, he was still caught up in thoughts of his previous disastrous attempt at 69.  It was etched in his mind as one of his rare sexual failures — a painful and humiliating experience.  Tentatively, he kissed Sherlock’s thigh.

 

Sherlock picked up on his hesitation.  After returning the kiss, he said, “I’m not your girlfriend from university, John.  No matter how this goes, I won’t be breaking up with you tomorrow.”

 

“Right.”  

 

John grasped the base of Sherlock’s cock.  _Just go for it,_ he told himself.  And he did.

 

John quickly discovered that there were definite advantages to doing this with another man, rather than with a woman.  For one thing, there was no question of ‘missing the mark.’  The mark in question was unmissable.  For another, the angle, which he had found so difficult with that long-ago girlfriend, could be easily adjusted with his hand on Sherlock’s cock.  Okay, then — all systems go. 

 

John set to work, pulling out all the stops to give Sherlock — and, by extension, himself — the world’s best blow job.  Each lick, each suck, each bob of the head and flick of the tongue was mirrored back to him in a feedback loop of pleasure.  The sounds, too, became a call-and-response, as he and Sherlock took turns drawing out each other’s sighs and gasps and moans. 

 

Each time John felt himself getting too close to orgasm, he eased off on what he was doing, so that Sherlock would ease off on him, as well.  By the sixth time he’d brought them both, groaning, to the edge, Sherlock couldn’t take any more.  He broke down, begging.

 

“John, _John,_ you win!  Just please let me come.  God, _please!”_  

 

How could John refuse?  It took him less than a minute to bring Sherlock to an explosive climax.  Sherlock’s cock was still pulsing in his mouth when John felt his own climax being sucked up from the soles of his feet to erupt like a volcano. 

 

Once he regained the power of speech, John panted, “Wow.  That was incredible.  But I don’t know if I’d want to tempt fate by trying it again.  It’s a miracle neither one of us got bitten at the end, there.”

 

Sherlock flipped around on the bed so they were lying face-to-face.  “I love you.” 

 

John cupped his cheek and kissed him.  “I love you, too.  But don’t think that means you’re getting out of giving me a foot massage.”

 

“Hmph.  Fine.  But I think you should give me a back massage first.  The difference in our heights has never bothered me before, but right now I feel like I might be suffering from permanent curvature of the spine.”

 

…

 

Once John had rubbed all of the kinks out of Sherlock’s back, and Sherlock had rubbed several interesting new kinks into John’s feet, the two men fell into a deep, contented sleep.  Early the next morning, John awoke with a sense of deja vu.

 

“John?”

 

“Hmmm…?”

 

“What else do you know about 69?”

 

John blinked up at Sherlock.  “What is your sudden obsession with 69?”

 

“I found something yesterday.  A false bottom to your bedside table drawer, with a clue that read: _There are 86 reasons for commitment, but you only need 69._ ”

 

“And you figured, since it was in the drawer with the sex toys, that it referred to the sexual position?”

 

“That seemed to be the logical conclusion.”

 

“Well, I guess that position did spark a little discussion about commitment.  After all, you promised not to break up with me the next day if it didn’t go well.”

 

“That’s true.  And even though it went spectacularly, I’m still not going to break up with you.”

 

John laughed, and then kissed him, morning breath be damned.  “Good.  So we have 86 reasons for commitment, but we only need 69.  Hmm…  What kind of a lock is it?”

 

“There are sixteen lettered dials.  So it could require a word, or a phrase, or some sort of alphabetic code to open.”

 

“Okay.  Should we make a list of all of our reasons for commitment?  I’m sure I could come up with at least 86 reasons why I want to be with you.”

 

Sherlock kissed him.  “Good idea.  Let’s do it over breakfast.”

 

…

 

When their list was complete, Sherlock looked it over thoughtfully.  As they were brainstorming ideas, his focus had been on his feelings about John.  Now, though, he switched into analytical mode.

 

“The combination will be a sequence of sixteen letters,” he said.  “Which of our entries might work?”  

 

“ _We have amazing sex_ has sixteen letters,” John said.  “And it fits with the sexual connotation of the number 69.”

 

“Let’s try it.”

 

…

 

John spun the dials to spell out WEHAVEAMAZINGSEX.  Nothing happened.

 

“Let’s think of seven-letter synonyms for amazing,” Sherlock said.  

 

John tried WEHAVEAWESOMESEX.  No luck.  WEHAVESPECIALSEX, WEHAVEMAGICALSEX, and WEHAVESUPERIORSEX likewise failed to open the lock.

 

“Perhaps 69 is meant to imply an uncommon sexual practice.  Let’s try _we have unusual sex_ ,” Sherlock suggested.

 

When that didn’t work, they tried substituting the words _bizarre_ , _strange_ , and _deviant_.  Still, the lock remained stubbornly closed.  They went down through their list, tweaking one entry after another to fit the sixteen letter requirement, but to no avail. 

 

“Let’s take a break,” John said eventually.  “How about a Jenga rematch?”

 

“You’re on.”

 

…

 

The first thing Sherlock noticed as they entered the game room was a piece of old parchment lying on the floor near the bookcase.  Curious, he picked it up.  He stared in fascination at the list of reasons for admission to the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum.

 

 

“John, have you seen this?”

 

“Oh, yeah.  I was looking at that when you blew up the lab.  I must have dropped it there.  I completely forgot about it.”

 

“I didn’t blow up the lab.  It was just a minor mishap.  But more to the point, do you realise what this is?”

 

“What?”

 

“A list of 86 reasons for commitment!”

 

“Oh!  What’s number 69?”

 

“SPINAL IRRITATION.  Which I would say is pretty appropriate, given the beating my back took yesterday.  Although, I’m not quite sure why it would qualify someone for admission to a mental hospital.”

 

“According to that list, there are probably a dozen reasons for us to have been sectioned.”

 

“Well, I, for one, have been enjoying our _FALSE CONFINEMENT_ immensely.”

 

“As have I,” John said, kissing him.  

 

…

 

Back in the bedroom, John turned the combination lock to read SPINALIRRITATION.  To his delight,  it opened, revealing a shallow compartment in the bottom of the drawer.  John removed the manilla envelope it contained.

 

“What do you think is in here?” he asked.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think is in the envelope? Please distract me from the hell that is the day before new content airs by leaving me some comments.


	12. Apology from the Author

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After watching The Final Problem, I’ve decided to put this story on indefinite hiatus. The setting reminds me too much of Sherrinford, and I just don’t have the heart to continue it now. I’m sorry.

If you need closure, let’s just say that Sherlock and John live happily ever after.

 


	13. Sense of Community

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been overwhelmed by the outpouring of support I’ve received after posting the previous non-chapter. I may not have the heart to continue this story, but that doesn’t mean that I want it to languish forever unfinished. So here’s the deal: I’m calling on you — yes, every single one of you, even if you’ve never written anything longer than a shopping list — to come up with your own version of a happily ever after for Sherlock and John. What this story needs is a host of alternative endings, à la Clue. I’ve created a collection especially for you. Will you help me fill it?

**[Our Divinest Senses Alternative Endings Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Our_Divinest_Senses_Alternative_Endings) Rules:**

Create your own conclusion to _Our Divinest Senses_.

Works can be any length, from a snarky two word "The End" to a multi-chapter fic.

On the Post New Work page, scroll down to Post to Collections/Challenges and type in Our Divinest Senses Alternative Endings.

Under that, make sure to click the box next to This work is a remix, a translation, a podfic, or was inspired by another work. Then fill in the URL box with <http://archiveofourown.org/works/7820518>

Please only post works to this collection for which No Archive Warnings Apply.

**Thank you!**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve already suggested your own alternative ending in a comment on a previous chapter, I hope you’ll either post it to the collection as is or post an expanded version. And if you’ve never written a single word, here’s your chance.
> 
> What I enjoyed the most about writing this story, as well as the original Divinest Sense, was getting to interact with you all as you theorized on solutions to the various puzzles John and Sherlock faced. Well, here’s one final puzzle — how does the story end? I can’t wait to read your solutions. :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The End?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9419444) by [PatPrecieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux)
  * [Our Divinest Senses - Another Ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520931) by [alexxphoenix42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42)
  * [Our Divinest Senses -Alternative Ending](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358857) by [DaisyFairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy)




End file.
